The Punisher
by thefudge is grumpy
Summary: AH. He wants revenge. He will have revenge. She just happens to stand in his way. Partly based on Marvel's Daredevil (season 2).
1. Chapter 1

_This story has been stewing inside me for ages (well, okay, since Daredevil season 2), so I see no cure but to let it out, lol. This story will be pretty different from my usual stuff? The style will be less literary fiction and more MCU, but with a dash of trash, as always. Anyway, lemme know how you like it!_

* * *

 **Chapter 1: leather**

* * *

"I see you haven't heard it's Christmas."

Bonnie looked up in annoyance. She was about to tell someone off for interrupting her with their faux holiday cheer, but her expression changed quickly when she saw it was Jeremy Gilbert leaning against the doorframe.

"Oh, no, I can _hear_ it all right," she replied with a strained smile. The off-beat techno-rap coming from the office Christmas party was hard to ignore. "What brings you here?"

"You, actually," he said, cocking his head to the side in that entitled way of his that made her want to hit him with her stapler.

She didn't have a problem with Jeremy Gilbert, son of John Gilbert, CEO of Mystic-Falls Enterprises. It was _he_ who had a problem with her. Namely, he wanted to sleep with her, and he felt that, as his father's employee, Bonnie Bennett was free for the taking.

She wasn't. Not even a little bit.

But she kept on smiling. She couldn't afford to alienate him. "Oh, well, what can I do for you?"

"You can grab your coat and let me take you out for drinks. I know you're not a fan of the office party. So, let's go some place quiet. Celebrate the holidays. What do you say?"

Bonnie did actually want a drink, but she would rather dress up as Santa Claus than sit next to Jeremy in some seedy bar in SoHo and hear him talk about the latest bash he'd thrown in the Hamptons.

"That's a really nice offer, but I have to go over some assets from the UnionAllied joint venture, and I want to do it now so I don't have to worry about them when I come back to work," she explained in painstaking detail, hoping he would buy it and leave her alone.

Jeremy sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically as if she were a puppy dog who'd refused to perform a cute trick, and not a paralegal in a successful company.

"The paperwork can wait. It's Christmas, Bon."

Bonnie gritted her teeth. She _hated_ when he called her 'Bon'. He'd given her that nickname _without_ her permission, as if he were her self-entitled boyfriend. A terrible boyfriend, at that.

"I don't celebrate Christmas, I'm Jewish." It wasn't a total lie.

Jeremy chuckled. "You're playing hard to get again. I like it."

Bonnie looked down at her phone and begged for it to start ringing so she might have an excuse to stop talking to him. No such luck.

"I'm not playing hard to get, I'm not _playing_ at all. I'm too busy for games."

"You know, one day I'll lose patience. One day there won't be an offer," he teased with a boyish grin.

 _Oh, please, make that day come faster,_ Bonnie thought wryly.

"Well, until that day," she said, turning towards her computer screen.

Jeremy watched her for a couple of moments before he turned away with a condescending shake of his head. As he walked down the corridor, she heard him say, "Don't work too hard, Bon!"

 _Ugh_. _What a tool._

But he was an expensive tool. His father was ridiculously fond of him and saw great potential in his numerous and, so far, _failed_ projects. Though John Gilbert supported his son, he was very different from him. He didn't leer at Bonnie and he didn't make her feel uncomfortable. He appreciated her for her competence and hard work. True…he was a rather mysterious man, which wasn't always good for a CEO. Mystic-Falls wasn't a very transparent company. She had only skimmed the surface of some of their third-tier partnerships and not all of them were "clean", shall we say. Then again, this was corporate America. If there was anything clean left, it was probably on its way to getting grimy.

Bonnie massaged her temples wearily. She hadn't been lying to Jeremy. She wanted to get the work done sooner rather than later. The office was celebrating Christmas earlier (it was only the 23rd) but she had an early flight to Virginia the next day and she didn't want to go home to her grandmother's and spend the entire holiday on her laptop. Sheila Bennett was famous for her intimidating stares. She didn't tolerate work during family gatherings. Her Grams also didn't like Mystic-Falls, even though it was good money and sometimes even good work. Bonnie almost always avoided talking about her job.

She took out her headphones from a drawer and inserted them in her ears to drone out the techno-rap. Then she hit play on Rihanna's _Work_ and started typing.

* * *

Bonnie felt like someone had drilled a nail in the back of her neck. There was a tense knot in the place where her spine met her shoulders. She was stiff from sitting hunched at her desk for hours. She blinked and looked at the time. It was a little past midnight. One more hour and then she'd be able to go home. Thankfully, everything was quiet now. It was just her and some security personnel in the entire building. Bonnie looked behind her. The night sky was dark and empty. There were never any stars over Manhattan. Too many lights, too much pollution, yadda yadda. But she kind of liked it that way. She liked to look at the vast inky space above her, devoid of life, devoid of expectations. A black mirror. It was oddly relaxing.

She decided to go splash some water on her face and return to work.

As she walked down the corridor, the sensor neon lights made a trail of white in front of her. Everywhere else was dark. It was a dreamlike atmosphere. She secretly enjoyed working late because she could soak up the strange aura of after-midnight office life.

Tonight was no different.

She went inside the bathroom and stood in front of the mirrors surveying her puffy eyes and sunken cheeks. She could've starred in Michael Jackson's _Thriller_. She'd look better in the morning, after a strong coffee and some hot bagels. Her grandmother would be furious, of course. _You're only twenty-three!,_ she would say. _And you already look like a forty-something divorcee! It's that job of yours!_

Bonnie laughed quietly to herself. She'd read somewhere that being in your twenties felt like being in your forties, and vice versa. It was strange how being young never _felt_ young. Well, unless you were Jeremy Gilbert. Then you were young every day of the week.

She was contemplating these random thoughts that only seemed to come to her after midnight when, as she turned a corner to return to her office, she noticed there was light in the distance. The neon lights could only be triggered by motion.

Was there someone else in the building after all?

 _Oh, God. Did Jeremy come back?_

Bonnie balled her hands into fists. This time, she _would_ say a few things she might regret, CEO's son be damned.

But whoever it was, they must have a clearance card to get in. And they'd also gotten past security. So, she dusted off her crumpled suit and walked confidently towards the light.

* * *

He'd checked. He'd checked that the building would be empty, save for some amateur security guards. And then, a young girl showed up.

A kid, practically.

* * *

Her lungs were crushed and her whole body hurt. She tasted leather.

She had been slammed against the wall and a glove was covering her mouth.

"Make a sound and you're dead."

The voice was hoarse and ragged and _on edge._

She had gone into the archive room with a friendly "Hello? Who's there?" and she had been tackled from behind. He had been a shadow. Not even flesh and blood.

But he felt real now. And so did the barrel of his gun against her temples. Bonnie closed her eyes. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't even cry or scream, she was paralyzed. She'd never had a – a _gun_ – pointed at her.

"Good," he breathed. His face was all bruises and scratches, purple and blotchy and raw, but she could see his eyes clearly and they were two dark and unforgiving chips.

 _How did he get past security?_ was her first desperate thought. It didn't seem to matter. If she didn't cooperate, she was dead, she knew the drill.

"Do what I say and you won't get hurt," he added with a rasp, almost guessing her thoughts. There was something strange about his voice. Like he was learning to speak, like the words felt uncomfortable in his mouth. She didn't know why she was focusing on that, but her mind was like a hamster trapped on a spinning wheel and she could think of nothing else.

"Did you hear me?"

Bonnie nodded her head mechanically. He must've breached half of the alarms by now. The police would be here soon. They _had_ to. She'd go insane if she had to stand here with him for a minute longer.

He released her mouth, but didn't lower the gun.

Bonnie gasped, choking on her own breath. It felt like she was coming up for air.

"You work here." It was a statement, not a question. She couldn't deny it.

"What do you do?" he asked, as if they were making small conversation, as if she wasn't peeing her pants in fear.

She contemplated lying to him, but she didn't have a lot of options. A secretary or assistant would not stay in after hours. A higher-up would be on his or her private plane by now.

"Paralegal," she answered reluctantly.

"Hmph. Any good?"

Bonnie blinked. "What?"

"Are you good at your job?"

The question terrified her in its ambiguity, its sheer lunacy. "Good at my…"

" _I'm_ good at my job. So if you say shit to anyone, I'll know. I'll find you. And bury you."

 _Bury you._

She imagined being buried in Manhattan, in this city of lights and steel. The idea seemed impossible, illogical. But his voice was not speculating.

"You got family?" he continued. "I'll bury them too. I'm used to it."

The mention of family made her seize with panic.

"I won't tell anyone – I don't care _what_ you're doing here – I don't care _who_ you are. Just take whatever you want and go!"

"Take whatever I want and go," he echoed. "You think I'm here to steal."

Bonnie could have sworn he sounded bleakly amused, as if the concept was as funny to him as dry paint.

"That's usually your company's M.O., not mine," he added with a touch of resentment.

"S-so, pointing a gun at people is yours?"

 _Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!_

She wanted to scratch her own eyes out for saying something so goddamn reckless. She knew better.

He tilted his head an inch, as if seeing her from a different angle would somehow give him new information. His eyes judged her and found her lacking.

"You don't know much for a paralegal."

Suddenly, he pulled her roughly by her elbow until her body collided with his chest. He was wearing some kind of gear, because he felt as solid as concrete.

"Twenty-four hours," he said and it sounded like a verdict.

 _Twenty-four hours…twenty-four hours…for what? What does that mean?_

She didn't find out. He knocked her out.

* * *

Her mouth tasted like acid. Her back ached. There was still that tense knot in the place where her spine met her shoulders. She wondered if she'd fallen asleep at her desk again.

She opened her eyes blearily.

She was in the archive room, sprawled on the floor like someone with a serious hangover. Except she was sober.

 _Twenty-four hours._

Bonnie Bennett shot up like an arrow. Panic spiked through her veins. She had to call the police, she had to call John Gilbert, she had to –

 _I'll find you. And bury you._

The threat had felt so real. It had been real.

 _You got family? I'll bury them too._

She shuddered at the thought of that man knocking on her grandmother's door. She remembered the terror she'd felt the previous night. His eyes had been filled with cold, unrelenting anger. It hadn't been directed at her specifically. She hadn't felt targeted…and yet she felt chills everywhere. Because he'd given her twenty-four hours. She'd _become_ a target.

Was he testing her? Seeing if she'd go to the cops?

She knew he could Google the companies' paralegals and find her, find her name. Her office had been unlocked and he must've seen the light from the computer screen. Her mind sadistically covered every possibility until she exhausted herself.

Bonnie managed to find her footing eventually. She even managed to walk out of the archive room. The corridor was empty. Judging from the dim light, it was probably close to dawn, maybe six a.m. But this was a Saturday. There wouldn't be many people coming into the building. She dragged herself to her office. It was exactly as she'd left it when she went to the bathroom. That felt like years ago.

She sat down in her chair. She didn't know if she wanted to cry, or _could_ for that matter. Something about that encounter had left her hollow. She didn't know what she was supposed to do. And that feeling of helplessness was more unbearable than any fear.

She checked her phone.

 _I hope you are on your way to the airport, young lady! XOXO – Sheila (that's kisses from me! I learned how to spell it from the Internet)_

Bonnie pinched the bridge of her nose. That's right. She had a plane to catch. Christmas was here.

* * *

Hours later in her seat, glancing absently at the fluffy winter clouds, she felt a cold dread in her stomach, like a snake waiting to bite. She had done nothing. She'd called no one. She'd packed her bags and left for Virginia, as she did every year.

But she could still taste leather on her lips.

* * *

The kid hadn't told anyone, hadn't even stayed in town. She'd left on a plane to Virginia. He'd checked.

Bonnie Bennett was her name. A small-town girl's name. Someone who'd worked her way into the city. Someone naïve. But she was a paralegal. She had one foot in the door. She could turn out to be useful.

He'd keep watching.


	2. Chapter 2

_Back with more Klonnie trash, extra-fresh from the oven. Thanks for the reviews, keep'em coming!_

* * *

 **2: envelope**

* * *

 _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ _  
_ _Had a very shiny nose,_ _  
_ _And if you ever saw it_ _  
_ _You would even say it glows!_

Bonnie clicked off the toy snowman when it started singing again. She couldn't bear to hear more Christmas carols. Besides, why would a _snowman_ sing about reindeer? What would _he_ care about Rudolph? Her nephew, Sammy, who had been clapping to the rhythm of the tune, stuck out his lip in protest and kicked his tiny feet against the carpet. His eyes grew wide and shiny. Bonnie was afraid he might actually start to cry, but luckily, her cousin, Lucy, came into the living room just in time to sweep him up in her arms.

"Ooh, what did mean Aunt Bonnie do now?"

"She kicked the snowman!" Sammy wailed.

"I hardly kicked it! I just shut it off. It was getting on my nerves," Bonnie explained with a tense smile. She was counting down the minutes until she could go upstairs, pop some NyQuil and fall dead asleep. The sooner she could put the previous night behind her, the better.

"A lot is getting on your nerves these days," Lucy remarked, not unkindly. "Come on, Grams wants to play Trivia."

Bonnie groaned. "Can't we skip it this year?"

But Sheila Bennett, whose ears were known to be sharper than a bat's, popped her head into the living room with a frown.

"How about you skip your _mood_ , young lady?"

It was tradition in the Bennett household that every Christmas after dinner the family would play an "educational" board game. This was mostly Sheila's doing, since none of the kids or the adults enjoyed being reminded they didn't know the capital of Nicaragua.

Bonnie sat down at the dining table and grabbed her cards, trying and failing to pretend that she had nothing else on her mind. She got almost every question wrong and kept mixing up the turns. It didn't help that she was checking her phone every few minutes.

"Aunt Bonnie is cheating!" Sammy piped up from the opposite seat.

"Yes, she _is_ , Samuel," Sheila agreed with a ferociously raised eyebrow. "I told you, Bonnie, no work during the holidays."

"It's not work. I'm just…checking something." She was expecting someone from the office to call and tell her about the break-in. They must've noticed it by now. She was also hoping they'd inform her that the terrifying gunman had been magically apprehended and she had nothing to worry about anymore. _A real Christmas miracle._

"She's looking up the answers!" Sammy deduced noisily.

"You caught me." Bonnie held up her hands with a tired smile, but it hardly appeased Sheila.

"Do you have to keep working at that place? All of those people are blood-suckers. I'm sure if you let me talk to Rudy, he'd find you a better job, somewhere less stressful."

"Where is he now? Vietnam? He could probably get me a gig there in ecological farming," Bonnie replied glibly, earning some hearty chortles from Sammy.

"Anyway," she continued in a tone she felt was both confident and self-assured, "I'm a paralegal; it's never going to _get_ less stressful. Don't worry about me so much. You know I can take care of myself."

Her grandmother shook her head in reproof. "Have you even called your father?"

Bonnie stared intensely at the cards in her hand. "He doesn't have great reception in the village."

"Now that's a load of bull, sweetheart."

"Grams! Not in front of Sammy," Lucy frowned, putting her hands over the little boy's ears.

"Oh, he's heard worse! And as for you, young lady, I want you to call your dad tonight, at the latest. Do I make myself clear?"

Bonnie heaved a sigh. "Yes, Grams."

Safe to say, she wasn't looking forward to that call. Rudy Hopkins was always in some remote location halfway across the globe, saving starving kids, digging wells, giving out vaccines or whatever else the humanitarians of the world had on their agenda. He didn't really believe in "Christmas" and called it a "pagan capitalist wet dream", hence his absence from the proceedings. He didn't really fit into the "system" in general. He had never been happy with her choice to go in for Law, and even less happy when she hadn't chosen a philanthropic branch. Rudy had been born with an insatiable desire to help the world. He believed Bonnie was meant to be a savior too; she just needed to grow into it. Bonnie had tried to convince him that you could do good even if you stayed within the "corrupt system".

"I'm your insider," she would joke at times, "I can give you Intel on the Rockefellers."

He never liked these jokes. He took the saving-of-the-world business very seriously. It was one of the reasons her mom had left him. Abby Bennett was a free spirit, and she didn't like having to follow her husband across continents on some ideological mission. She was now remarried and living in California with her husband and stepson, Jamie. Bonnie sometimes visited her on special occasions, although, as of late, she had kept to the Eastern Coast since Jamie had tried to ask her out. He was seventeen.

In any case, she could tell neither parent about the horrible night she'd had. They were simply too removed from her life to understand.

She did call Rudy, though, or she'd never hear the end of it from her Grams.

"Boo-Boo! It's good to hear from you!"

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "Dad, I think it's high-time you stopped calling me that."

"You'll never be too old for Boo-Boo! Now tell me, did Sheila tell you to ring?"

"No! I just wanted to see how my dad was doing."

Rudy scoffed cheerfully. "I'll believe that when I see it. I'm doing fine, Boo-Boo. Sitting with my kids at the waterfalls in Dalat. It's too beautiful for words. I wish you were here."

"Anything that's not freezing cold sounds good. What are you doing there anyway?"

"Well, I thought I'd take the orphans on a small field trip, but wouldn't you know, they've seen the falls a hundred times already, ha ha."

Bonnie was about to make some witty reply about "voluntourism" when she got an e-mail alert from Mystic-Falls.

"Dad, I'll have to get back to you later. It's urgent."

"Let me guess, corporate America needs your full attention again."

But Bonnie had already hung up. Her stomach dropped several levels below sea as she opened the e-mail.

 _We regret to inform you of a security breach…unknown whether any property has been misplaced…..Assailant currently unidentified... police are drawing up an investigation…If you have any information…Call this number or report to the second floor…department of security…_

Bonnie stared at her phone for a long time.

They hadn't caught him. He was still out there. _No_ Christmas miracle.

Her fingers paused over the keypad. She could call. She could give them all the information she had on him and hope for the best.

But every time she felt tempted to do that, she remembered the gun and his face and his voice.

She lay down in bed and pulled the covers over her. She could hear the toy snowman singing heartily downstairs. Sammy must've turned him back on.

 _All of the other reindeer_

 _Used to laugh and call him names_

 _They never let poor Rudolph_

 _Join in any reindeer games!_

She couldn't reconcile the warm and innocent atmosphere of the Bennett household with the smell of gun oil. Maybe if she just laid her head down for a minute…

Restless and frightened though she was, she instantly fell asleep.

* * *

She woke in the middle of the night, disoriented and groggy from bad dreams in which she was being chased by a man without a face. Her phone flashed in the dark. She scrambled for it half-heartedly, wondering if there was a new e-mail from Mystic-Falls. But it was a text message. From an unknown number.

 _Good. You get to live. Let's keep it that way._

Bonnie read it over and over again, until the words became illegible dots on the screen. Black little bugs crawling under her skin. She shuddered under the covers and gritted her teeth to stop them from rattling.

How had he got her personal number? How did he know she hadn't said anything? Had twenty-four hours passed so quickly? Was she still dreaming?

She heard her own blood roaring in her ears. She shot up from bed and dashed to the bathroom across the hall and locked herself in. She threw up straight into the toilet.

* * *

Neither Lucy nor Sheila could understand why she needed to cut her holidays short, nor could they persuade her out of it. Lucy's wife, Katherine, was coming down from Minnesota with her brother in tow and Sheila had already bought tickets to the Nutcracker show at the Community Center, which she knew was her granddaughter's favorite. They were going to make a party out of it. But Bonnie was determined to leave before that happened. She wasn't going to put them in danger by sticking around any longer. She made up a big New Year's Eve party she was supposed to attend, at "Jeremy's house in the Hamptons".

"I thought you didn't like that boy very much," Sheila quizzed her suspiciously.

"He grew on me," Bonnie mumbled, not being able to come up with anything more flattering. "Besides, he's a good connection to have."

"Good connection, my shoe! You should blow him out!"

Bonnie smiled patiently. "You mean blow him _off_."

"Don't patronize me, young lady, I know the lingo."

"What's lingo, and can I have some of it?" Sammy chirped in Lucy's arms.

Bonnie felt like crying.

 _You get to live._

She hugged her family goodbye before she could change her mind and drove straight to the airport.

* * *

Hell's Kitchen was eerie and magical this time of year. A veneer of cheer and decency was plastered over even the most dubious neighborhoods. You saw fewer weirdos prowling through the garbage bins and shouting about the Apocalypse, almost no batty old ladies trying to sell their pots and pans right in the middle of the sidewalk, and only _two_ knife fights in every bodega across from her block.

Garish Christmas lights and ash-grey heaps of snow had turned the place into a modern Pompeii.

But she hadn't come back just to soak up the atmosphere.

Mystic-Falls was still mostly deserted due to the holidays, but she had noticed a lot more security was stationed on each floor. No one batted an eye when she walked in, though. Everyone knew about workaholic Bonnie Bennett and her obsessive routines. She was terrified someone might call her in for questioning, owing to her habit of staying overtime at night. But no one paid her any mind. She didn't know whether she was angry or relieved. Sometimes you needed a push in order to do the right thing. Although, she didn't know what consisted as _right_ in this situation.

All she knew was that she had to find out what that gunman had _taken_. Because he had been looking for something in the archive room, she was sure of it.

When she arrived there, however, and pressed her security pass into the lock, she found that the room was utterly _empty_.

Bonnie turned around in a circle. The room was completely bare, save for a few office supplies shoved in two boxes in one corner of the room. Everything else had been removed. She couldn't believe it.

She ran out into the hall and called for one of the guards posted near the doors.

"Hey, Joe? What happened to all the documents in the archive?"

"Oh, _that_. Mr. Gilbert had the boxes moved some place safe when he heard about the breach."

Bonnie frowned. "Why did he do that?"

He shrugged. "You'll have to ask him. All I know is he said we needed to be on the look-out."

Bonnie walked back to her office in utter confusion. Nothing was mentioned about the archive in the public e-mail. In fact, they'd asked for employees' help in figuring out what had been seized. And yet, John Gilbert had quickly moved the documents some other place.

No one else should have known about the archive being a target except her and the gunman.

Unless…unless John Gilbert's first instinct when someone broke into his house was to hide the family jewels. That made sense. But why was the archive so important?

She stared out the window at the grey winter morning. A new building across town was being erected and she could see the cranes wielding heavy iron bars in the air. No holiday for the blue collar, it seemed.

Bonnie dropped back in her chair. She couldn't ask John about the archive. She'd arouse his suspicion. The only other person she could turn to was –

 _No._

* * *

" _What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey. That's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon, Mary."_

Bonnie popped a chip in her mouth distractedly. She was sitting with her Mac in her lap while _It's A Wonderful Life_ played softly in the background. She'd entirely forgotten about it. She was going through Mystic-Falls' every acquisition from 2011 to the present. She didn't know what she was hoping to find. In fact, this entire "project" was doomed to fail because there was a lot of documentation that wasn't included online and she'd need an army of people just to get through what _was_ there.

She knew very well that sometimes Mystic-Falls dealt in some shady transactions, but since she handled a big portion of their legal credentials, she knew from experience there was nothing too alarming about their under-the-table deals. True, she had never gone too deep into their mergers and partnerships but she was not the goddamn CFO, was she?

And yet, a man had shoved a gun into her face because _something_ in that archive was important.

Bonnie pinched the bridge of her nose. Maybe she needed some wine to go with her paranoia.

She marched off into the kitchen and scavenged through her fridge. Cheap supermarket Waitrose? Check. The bottle was almost empty, but it would do. She dumped its contents into a coffee mug (less hassle) and padded back into her living room.

Her phone buzzed.

 _Here's all the fun you're missing, Ms. Grinch._

It was a photo from Lucy. Her, Sammy and Katherine were shown skating at the Community Center, post-Nutcracker. Sheila was sticking out her tongue in the background.

Bonnie laughed.

And then she got another text.

 _Window._

She dropped the mug on the carpet, spilling red wine all over the patterned flowers. Her first stupid thought was _This is gonna stain._

She didn't even dare to turn her head and see if he was there.

Bonnie clutched her phone tightly. She _could_ call the police right now.

A new text appeared on the screen.

 _Don't_

Bonnie swallowed hard. If she ran into the kitchen to grab a knife –

Another text flashed in front of her eyes.

 _Make me_

Maybe she could just bolt out of the apartment and shout for the neighbors.

 _Hurt you_ , the third text read in black and white.

Bonnie pressed a hand to her mouth. She just needed to breathe. Get oxygen into her lungs and then she'd be fine. He wasn't going to hurt her. Not if she moved. She stumbled to the window where a dark shape was blocking the view. Her fingers trembled on the latch.

He was standing on her fire escape. She had to look up to see his face. It was still violently battered and bruised but some of the cuts were healing and there were two yellow marks under his eyes. They stared down at her with the same ruthless composure.

"How did you find where I live?"

The question flew out of her lips before she could stop herself.

He crouched down until her face was level with his armored chest. She drew back a step.

"I told you, I'm good at my job. I saw you going into work."

Bonnie glanced over her shoulder at the laptop still perched on her sofa.

"I kept my silence," she whispered, seeing the picture of Lucy and Sammy and Katherine flash before her eyes.

"That's not all you did."

"I…also went back to the archive room," she admitted, her voice quivering at the end. _Get a damn grip._

"There you go," he drawled. "What did you find?"

The question sounded more sarcastic than genuine. And there was again, she felt, something _off_ about the way he talked. During their first encounter she hadn't been able to pinpoint it, but now she was sure there was something wrong with his accent. As if he was…putting it on. Maybe the beatings had damaged his speech. Maybe she should stop thinking about it.

"Nothing. I found nothing. The room was empty," she replied bleakly.

His lips twitched. "Must have been a rude surprise."

Bonnie hugged herself, digging her nails into the flesh of her arms. She struggled to keep her voice steady.

"Why was it empty? Are they covering their tracks?"

He hadn't expected her to ask the question right away, because a strange shadow flickered over his face. Bonnie opened her mouth, but he straightened up and walked away from the window. He stood on the fire escape, staring down at the city as if it was all going to come crashing down around him. As if he'd make sure it _did_. In the ensuing silence, she heard fire crackers going off in the distance and teenagers laughing.

"You sure you want to know?" he asked, but it didn't sound like a question.

Bonnie knew that her next move would be definitive. She could still walk away. She could still call the company, tell them about him, and get out of this with her hands relatively clean.

Funnily enough, her hands were stained with wine.

"No. But I have to."

He turned his head to look at her. He seemed to be sizing her up, deciding if she was worth her salt.

After a few moments, he opened up his jacket and pulled out a large yellow envelope. He threw it on the kitchen floor at her feet. Bonnie picked it up gingerly and looked inside.

"Are these…"

"I made copies. John Gilbert won't know they're missing."

Bonnie nodded her head, rifling through the papers feverishly.

"Kid."

She looked up. His face was at the window.

"I know where you live. I know where to find you. Useful means alive. Obstacle means dead."

Bonnie gulped, tightening her grip on the envelope. She felt a cold sweat break on her upper lip.

"Got it?"

"Y-yes."

"Good. I'll be in _touch_ ," he emphasized with scorn.

The words sounded far from comforting. He pulled down her window and, faster than she could blink, he had jumped over the fire escape and disappeared into the night.

* * *

She'd taken the envelope. Maybe he'd made a mistake. He couldn't be sure of her yet. He had to see just how useful she would be. She seemed…foolishly brave for someone so small. Brave people did stupid things. Maybe she was smarter than she looked. She'd certainly connected the dots fast. And there was something to be said about her questions.

If she screwed up, he'd have to take her out.

Pity.


	3. Chapter 3

_So, I did say this was going to be on the dark side, right? If I didn't, oh well. You've known me for a while. Where else would I go with my Bonnie ships?_

 _Hope you enjoy and reviews are appreciated!_

* * *

 **3: names**

* * *

Bonnie hardly noticed the inebriated cheers and cries from the streets below. It was New Year's Eve, but it was quiet as a church in her apartment. If she had lifted her head from the papers in front of her, she might've caught the impressive fireworks display in the distance. But she was blind and deaf to the world around her.

She was checking documents, taking notes, pulling out old Law textbooks, reading and re-reading the same paragraph in a feverish haze. She couldn't remember the last time she had showered. Her legs had gone numb from her position on the floor. But her personal upkeep could wait until she reached the end of the paragraph.

At first glance, the folder he had given her looked harmless. It documented a simple transaction between Mystic-Falls and a small company under the name of Confed Global. It took Bonnie the better part of three days to find out Confed Global was actually connected to the recent construction company UnionAllied, the very same company with which Mystic-Falls had entered a joint venture.

Nothing was strictly illegal about any of the numbers printed on the paper, but the money trail was definitely odd. Confed Global was very under the radar, and after checking with some archives online, she got a funny feeling that it was nothing but a ghost company, meant to be the middle point between two bigger docks. Basically, the assets Mystic-Falls had transferred to Confed Global would reach UnionAllied through back doors.

But why didn't Mystic-Falls just transfer the assets directly to UnionAllied? From what Bonnie could tell, most of the assets concerned renovation works in Hell's Kitchen. Why would that be something Mystic-Falls would try to hide? Wouldn't a renovation project look good for both companies?

The transaction between her company and Confed Global had been signed on by a weird assortment of lawyers. Their names were redacted crudely on the page with a thick black dash. There was also a fringe-group of "business owners" included in the paperwork, but their unredacted names didn't say much to her. Their job was to ensure that the assets would find their right destination.

"Okay. Okay," Bonnie muttered, tapping her pen against the paper. "Mystic-Falls transfers assets to Confed Global, who finds a loophole in the bylaws and transfers the money internationally to UnionAllied. But Mystic-Falls and UnionAllied are currently partners in a joint venture, and yet _this_ was not included in the joint venture. Why? What's this other money for?"

She heaved a sigh and rubbed at her weary eyes. It was four o'clock on January 1st. Her bones felt heavy under her skin. But she continued her line of questioning.

"Why would UnionAllied need extra funds from us, obtained through back alleys?"

She bit her lip. She was pretty sure she'd read about another case like this some years ago when she was studying for an exam. She remembered it had involved money laundering. She reached for one of her old textbooks.

Her phone buzzed, and she nearly dropped the heavy tome on her foot. She cursed under her breath. She had been secluded in her apartment for too long, she was getting jumpy about foreign sounds.

It was a text from Jeremy.

 _Happy New Year Bon-Bon! Can't wait to C U !_

She rolled her eyes. What an ass.

But there was another incoming message.

 _Did u go home that night? Or did u stay up like a naughty grrrrl_

Bonnie wrinkled her nose in disgust. "You're so drunk, Gilbert."

But then it hit her. "That night". _That night._ Jeremy was talking about the night Bonnie had worked late. The night before flying to her Grams'.

The night the archives were broken into.

"Shit. Shit, Jeremy knows I was there."

But so what if he did? Other people had probably noticed she was working late. The problem was, Jeremy had _direct_ access to John Gilbert, her boss.

He could easily tell his dad about her refusing to go out with him because she had to stay in.

Bonnie groaned, covering her face with her hands. She had to make sure Jeremy stayed quiet about her late night. She couldn't explicitly ask him not to mention it to anyone, because while Jeremy was an absolute tool, he was not the _dumbest_ tool in the shed. She had to make sure he knew a different story.

Bonnie sighed, picked up her phone, and reluctantly typed,

 _No, I went home early like a good girl._

Jeremy wasted no time in texting her back.

 _Good girl, huh? Care to show meee?_

Her fingers hovered over the keypad. What the hell did he mean by that?

Luckily, he elaborated just in time.

 _Show me u a good girl or don't believe u_

Bonnie pinched the bridge of her nose. Why did this entire thing suddenly depend on a trust-fund asshole who couldn't take no for an answer?

She took a quick selfie of herself smiling blearily into the camera.

Two minutes later, he sent a photo of himself, half-naked on the deck of a yacht, pursing his lips in the semblance of a kiss.

Bonnie stared at Jeremy's glazed expression. She could see the city lights behind him and the G insignia on his "daddy's private yacht". It was hard for her to swallow that John Gilbert had gotten involved in a quick money-laundering scheme with UnionAllied. There had to be more to it than that.

Her phone buzzed one last time.

"Jesus," she groaned and dropped her phone in disgust. Jeremy Gilbert had sent her a dick pic.

Bonnie went to get a glass of water. She stared at herself in the mirror. Seeing her boss' son's dick was the crowning cherry on top of a pretty terrible week all around.

When she returned to the living room, she picked up her phone and saved the incriminating image. She also saved the entire conversation on her laptop and transferred the pictures there. If shit ever hit the fan, she'd have this to hold over his head.

Bonnie Bennett was nothing if not resourceful.

* * *

For the first time since she could remember, she felt sorry she had to get back to work on Monday. She still had a lot left to uncover. She was determined to find out what UnionAllied was doing with the additional cash and _why_ it mattered so much to the battered man at her window. He had risked a lot just to get his hands on the file. It was worth getting to the bottom of it.

She was not foolish enough to bring the documents to work, but as she went through the regular motions of a Monday morning, all she could think about was money laundering. She tapped her fingers against her desk impatiently. She scanned her computer screen blankly. She opened up a random game of Solitaire. She was restless.

She was waiting for the hours to pass so she could go home and investigate. She realized she might be getting _excited_ about something that was possibly bad. But she had been craving a challenge.

As she sat in the elevator which would take her up to the cafeteria, she wondered for the umpteenth time why UnionAllied would try to hide plans for renovating Hell's Kitchen. The community would be grateful for the work, wouldn't it? Half the blocks on her street needed consolidating.

Although… she _had_ seen a lot of new buildings go up recently. Whenever she looked out the window of her office, she could see the skeletons of a new business complex rising from the ashes. That was not part of the "renovation", strictly speaking.

She stepped inside the busy cafeteria to find that people were chatting animatedly while pointing at the TV screens above their heads.

"Four high-profile homicides in one day is quite the workload for NYPD…" one of the newscasters was saying as Bonnie walked up to the display case and chose two sandwiches and a coffee.

"Yes, Mike, they certainly have their hands full, since the victims are all well-regarded business owners from Manhattan whose families and friends are shocked at the gruesome manner in which they were killed…"

She missed the rest of the sentence as her eyes scanned the screen and finally settled on the four names, written in bold yellow script on a black background.

"Ma'am, your change?" the man behind the counter asked, holding out his hand expectantly.

Bonnie backed away, dropping the sandwiches and the coffee.

"I – I have to go."

She ran down the stairs, taking two at a time. She'd left her coat in her office, but she couldn't care less. She pushed the exit doors open, running through the snow in her pumps and tweed suit.

People paused on the street to watch her run. In the back of her mind, this registered as a bad thing. She was drawing attention to herself. But she had to _know_. She had to get home and _see_ it with her own eyes.

She burst in her apartment and slammed the door in her wake. She had placed the file in a shoebox under the bed. She crawled on her hands and knees and removed it from its hiding place, and then dumped its contents on the bed.

She opened the file with shaking fingers. She turned the pages. There it was. The fringe-group of business owners who had vouched for the assets. There were five of them.

 _Richard Lockwood_

 _Giuseppe Salvatore_

 _Kelly Donovan_

 _Alaric Saltzman_

 _Julian Alexander_

Four of them were dead.

Bonnie stumbled into the living room and grabbed her TV remote. The images came up on the screen with the strength of a hurricane. She had to sit down.

 _Shot multiple times…_

 _The bodies disfigured…._

 _Julian Alexander…currently in the hospital in critical condition….the only victim who survived…._

Bonnie didn't have time to reach the safety of her bathroom. She threw up on the wine-stained carpet.

* * *

It was only hours later that she regained consciousness. She was lying on her couch, vomit dribbling on her expensive tweed suit and her head felt like it was stuffed with hammers and nails. She was cold and sick all over. She remembered now. She had left Mystic-Falls without her coat. She had rushed in here to find something…

Something she wished she hadn't found.

The file was lying a few feet away, looking distressingly ordinary next to her cushions and slippers.

She had a sudden crazy instinct to burn it. It would be easy to get rid of it and say it never happened.

Except, four people had died.

She forced herself to stand up. She couldn't sit in this apartment, knowing that any moment he might show up at her window with the blood on his hands. The blood that she could have prevented.

If she had just told her boss or the police or _anyone_ about him, maybe four people wouldn't be dead now.

She had pulled the trigger, almost as much as he had. She had allowed it to happen.

She couldn't stand it, couldn't stand herself. To think hours earlier she had been _excited_.

She left the file in its solitary position on the floor. She slipped out of her dirty suit, rinsed her mouth with hot water and put on some jeans and a sweater. She didn't know where she was going, but she had to get some fresh air.

The weather was oppressive. It was going to snow soon, but the sky was dark and pregnant, bearing down on Hell's Kitchen with the strength of a fist.

She felt tears smarting at the corner of her eyes. Even now, she could jog to the nearest police station and get this weight off her shoulders. It wasn't supposed to be _her_ weight. And yet it pressed down on her, like the sky.

She turned in the direction of the one dingy bar she always went to when she had work problems. The bartender was cute and he sometimes gave her whiskeys on the house. She could get wasted and forget about "multiple shots" and "disfigured bodies".

The bar sign was right in front of her when a hand shot out of the dark and pulled her in the opening between two buildings.

She tried to scream, but leather covered her mouth and pressed down until every sound was muffled.

She had been shoved into a dank alley that smelled of rot and mold and his body was blocking the exit. He pushed her further into the passage, until she couldn't see the street anymore.

"Shouldn't be running around looking like you killed someone," he muttered as he trapped her against the wall.

 _How dare you tell me that?_ she wanted to scream.

Her eyes surveyed his hard face anxiously. Would she be able to describe the features to the police? His bruises had healed. He looked almost human.

She struggled against him, but he put a finger to his lips and kept his hand on her mouth.

"Your place was a mess. You should be more careful."

Bonnie growled angrily, but he tightened his grip on her face.

"I see you're upset. But you _wanted_ to see the file."

She screamed back a reply he couldn't make out and then her face crumpled in an expression of pure pain. He could see water pooling in her soft eyes.

He ran his thumb under her eyelashes and collected the hot tears. They glistened on his leather glove. He stared at them for a second too long.

"I'll let you go if you behave."

She nodded her head weakly.

His fingers eased their grip on her chin. She exhaled sharply, and a cloud of steam was released from her mouth.

"You – you killed a woman too," she whispered, wondering if somewhere behind that thick armor there was a conscience.

"And? Does that make her any more innocent?"

" _Innocent_?" she spat, her voice rising an octave. "Whatever you think those people did to you, you had _no_ right to do this, how could you –"

His bulk invaded the last remains of her personal space.

"You'll find people can do a lot of things under the right circumstances. Even you."

"What does that mean?"

He cocked his head to the side and in the sudden sliver of light from one of the windows above she could see that his short hair was dark blond.

"Are you going to go to the _authorities_ , Bonnie Bennett?"

Her name on his lips left her with a bevy of shivers down her spine.

"Or…" he trailed off, tilting her chin up, "do you want to know more? Do you want to know why they died?"

"N-no," she replied with a halt.

"No?" he echoed with a hint of dark amusement in his voice. "So, you didn't read the file? You didn't try to work out the connection?"

Her eyes looked down quickly and, something in their wayward movement gave her away. She was like an open book.

"I didn't think you'd go ahead and –"

"Yes. They didn't either. Took them by surprise to see their own blood," he replied casually, as if they were discussing the weather.

Bonnie rubbed at her mouth, trying to wipe away the taste of leather. "One of them is still alive."

"For now."

She gasped. "You can't. You're insane."

"That's the official story," he said with a click of his jaw. "I'd wager the police won't find it substantial."

"I'm _not_ going to stay quiet about this. Even if I don't have proof." Her voice didn't sound as convincing as her words, but she was giving a good performance. He imagined she looked just as fierce when she was handling a thorny case for Mystic-Falls.

"Remember what I told you about obstacles?"

 _Obstacle means dead_ , she remembered. He had killed a woman. He could do it again.

Was she going to be the fifth? She found she almost didn't care at this point. Maybe she was going mad.

"Then you'll just have to kill me right here, right now," she shot back, staring him down. Her small frame was trembling, but her hands were clenched into fists. She was ready to take him.

And then he did something that shocked her. He _laughed_.

It wasn't a cold laugh. It wasn't the familiar cynical humor in his voice. It was something strange and warm, something from another world. It didn't sound like him at all.

She was frightened.

"I would. But I need more names. These five bastards are only the tip of the iceberg. You can get me the rest."

"No. No. No," she whispered, shaking her head.

"Your choice," he said levelly. "But you already know too much. Go screaming to the police. Or help me. Either way, won't stop the bloodshed."

Bonnie stood stock-still as he tapped his thumb against her cheek and walked away from her. Before she could gather her bearings, he was gone. She was alone in the foul alley. Without a choice. Again.

* * *

Maybe he should have killed her. That would have been smart. But he'd found something so irresistibly amusing about her fierce opposition. The way she was trying to make sense of the amoral world she lived in. She was one of the corporate cogs in the vast, hungry machine that swallowed everything in its wake, yet she acted like she didn't know what she was capable of. He'd watched her at New Year's. Sitting on the floor of her living room, pouring over the documents like a hungry child. She had lapped that shit up.

She might be his ticket in. Or his misstep. He'd have to risk it, for once.

There was something…nostalgic about an innocent.


End file.
